Then, I’ll Feel Pretty.

I specifically remember being in junior high, looking in the mirror and thinking, “After I get my braces off, then I’ll feel pretty.” 

I got them off and felt like a million bucks. Soon, I shifted my thoughts though…My body was alright and all; but, I didn’t have abs. I believed, “If I could just do a bunch of sit-ups each day, then I’ll feel pretty.”

As a young teenager, I felt comfortable enough with myself to not obsess over my insecurities. I didn’t hide in the locker room, or shy away from situations where I was the center of attention. But, I still felt like I could look better. I wasn’t like the models on TV or in magazines. And, I wasn’t “as skinny” as so-and-so was…

Senior year, butt dimples appeared. I was crushed. At 18, I started hiding behind clothes in the locker room and I became very insecure about my increasing weight. I’d let go of this idea of abs. Now, if only I could have a toned butt, then I would feel pretty.

It was that summer after senior year that I caught a glimpse of the back of my legs in a mirror. And, I was sick to see…hail damage – as I’ve heard it so offensively called. My hamstrings were not toned “enough,” and I swore that I wouldn’t wear shorts again, until I “fixed it.” Once I toned my legs, I would feel pretty.

The freshman 15 in college showed up, and then perhaps 15 more…

I cried and cried to Heath about my insecurities. If I could just lose the weight again, then I would feel pretty.

At 20, I started weight watchers. I lost the weight. I felt great. But, those love handles… My body profile was just so thick. I needed a tiny waist. If I could manage to lose just a few more pounds, then I would feel pretty.

The next few years, I tanned in tanning beds. I dyed my hair. I got mani/pedis. I bought new clothes. But, I would still obsess over what to wear, to hide my thick middle area. And, that’s when my “bat wings” showed up. When I waved, my arm skin would jiggle. I swore off tank-tops. 

Then, I got pregnant. All of a sudden, those silly insecurities flew out the window. They were laughable, actually. The next two years would be the hardest for me to ever endure in regard to my own body image. I gained a lot of weight – 54 lbs actually. And, I was not blessed with a forgiving body at that. I got stretch marks in places I didn’t even know one could get stretch marks. Maybe more water would have helped; but, my doctor assured me that it is mostly a genetic thing. Awesome. Sorry, Lucy and Olive…

Accepting this new me, which could never be changed back was difficult. I held on to the idea for so long that I was somewhat in control of my looks. Just some hard work could make it better, if I became motivated enough to do it. But, stretch marks? Well, hello there! Welcome to my life, we’re gonna be together for…ev…er. 

At 24, I lost the weight and was very close to my pre-pregnancy weight. But, my body was not the same. This was the time when I wished I had worn the shorts, worn the tank tops, felt comfortable in the body that I look back on now with appreciation…and sadness…

As I aged, and more babies came alone, I thought that weight loss, and clear skin, and better hair, and tan skin, and wrinkle cream, could all make me feel pretty. If only I could fix this or that, I’d feel pretty…

Now, these may sound like the ramblings of someone who suffers from body image issues. Truth is, I don’t. Yes, I go through at least ten outfits any time I’m going out. Yes, I watch makeup tutorials on YouTube, and died a little when I had to search for “makeup tutorial for under-eye wrinkles.” Yes, I dye my hair. Yes, I sometimes stare in the mirror for ten to fifteen minutes before jumping into the shower, just assessing what I got going on. And, yes, I watch Botched on E! and wonder what Dr. Dubrow would do to “fix me up.” 

But, it isn’t an unhealthy obsession for me. I truly believe that my feelings are not uncommon. I may be vainer than some, but I am also less vain than some. Nevertheless, I think to some level many people feel this. For moms, I feel like it is much more amplified. Perhaps I’ll go into that another time…

This past summer, I certainly spent too much time focusing on my body image issues. After being put on an anxiety medication, I started to gain weight very quickly. I have always eaten like garbage for the most part, but am pretty good at maintaining. It was all that baby weight following me around. This time though, on this medication, was the first time I gained uncontrollably. It was the middle of bathing suit weather and I was carrying around much more weight than my clothes or I were used to. Then, out of nowhere, I started to get marks on my face that may or may not have been perioral dermatitis (a form of eczema). It was summer! And, here I was packing on layers of clothing and makeup. I was supposed to be in shorts and tank tops, with no makeup. It was a low for me.

Soon, I got my hair dyed a new color and got a new cut. And, my doctor gave me some medicine to clear up my face disease. I was feeling better. One day, as the kids sat in the bathtub, I studied myself in the mirror. I thought to myself, “Now, if only I could lose this weight, I would feel pretty. I would feel content. Yes, I’m old. But, this weight is really what is dragging me down.”

And, I realized - It is always something.

I think back to my 18 year old self not wearing shorts and I want to shake that girl! Or, the girl who wouldn’t wear tank-tops. Or, the girl who thought she needed abs to feel confident. I can’t even put into words the disappointment I have with her – my past self. 

As I age, I am getting better and better at these things. I think about them less, and I rely on my personality to state my worth. It is hard though, because I still want to look nice. I still want people to think I’m pretty, as well as nice, fun, kind, humorous, etc. But, it’s amazing how age, and kids, relist your priorities in so many ways. I just didn’t expect my own insecurities to be among of them. 

As I gain some sort of wisdom from aging, I keep telling myself. It’s always something. I need to remember that young girl with the metal smile, the girl hiding in the locker room, and the girl layering clothing. Remember how silly she was! And, I know that when I’m 60 (God willing), I’ll look back at this 32 year old and think, “Damn, girl! You were foine!” ;)

While I am still insecure, I am okay with it. It is a part of my life. More than ever before, I can shrug off my insecurities. Yes – I still have random break-downs, where “I have absolutely nothing to wear!” and times when I call myself fat or chubby. But, I don’t find it messing with my happiness, and I don’t let it keep me from being me (most of the time). 

It’s always something…so, I might as well enjoy what I have, while I have it.